5Aaron
I decidedto stick around Texas for a few days. There had to have been a reason that Megan used a Megan Jones from Texas as her alias. Was she from Texas? Was she currently in Texas?
The best of the roach motels was going to be my residence until I picked up a lead on Megan. I usually stuck out like a sore thumb inside the four and five-star hotels, so I didn’t bother with them. Just as my mind started to relax and my neck started to roll, D’s call sounded, and I jerked my head up with a start. I was talking before the phone reached my mouth and ear.
“What do you have for me, man?” I hadn’t even said hello. D was used to my rugged demeanor and my usual aggravated tone.
“I dug until I found out where those centers are located that are receiving Megan’s book sales profits. It looks like someone paid good money to keep this shit hidden, but there’s not much that stays hidden from me,” D stated, chuckling. He wasn’t being arrogant either. D had the ability to find shit that was meant to be buried and things that people assumed had disappeared.
“The money is going to two places in Texas. Grab a pen.”
Although it had led to a dead end, I was glad I’d decided to follow up on the Texas address from Megan’s driver’s license. It meant I’d already made a trip I was likely going to have to make anyway. After reaching atop the wobbly desk at the foot of my squeaky bed, I found a cheap, flimsy pen.
“I’m ready,” I told D, eager for another lead.
As soon as I scribbled the addresses and ended the call with D, I went to my truck and input the information into my GPS. Since it was only two in the afternoon, I decided to go and check out the places D had provided.
The first address took me to a place called The Kid’s Club, which was something like a knock-off Boys and Girls Club. The Crestwood neighborhood wasn’t the most glamorous environment, and I could tell right away that it wasn’t a place you wanted to be stuck in at night.
Shabby and weathered buildings, littered streets, and graffiti-decorated walls filled my view. People hung out on the blocks, and I was sure they weren’t hanging out because they were enjoying the sun.
My body jolted forward and rocked back after I slammed my foot on the brakes to keep from hitting a thin man that darted out into the path of my truck. The man was wearing a pink tank top and pale blue booty shorts holding up a flimsy cardboard sign that read, “Twerk it like you mean it.” I shook my head, attempting to rid my brain of the image I’d just seen.
The location alone should have been enough to stop me, but in my opinion, this place was nothing but a flipside view of how I’d grown up in Copper County. However, in this area, I was the minority. I drove over the graveled parking lot of The Kid’s Club and walked up to the building that looked like it should have been torn down years ago.
It was a brick building with burnt orange bricks missing from certain spots. Dirt had overtaken and was caked on a majority of the outside. The windows had bars that were breaking out of some of the crumbling bricks.
There were kids running around on the dirty basketball court located to the right side of the building. The nets on the basketball goals were missing, and nothing but the rusted rims remained on leaning poles propped up with sandbags.
On the far side of the building, I spotted sawhorses and equipment that indicated the outside of the building was in the process of receiving a long overdue makeover.
A floral fragrance that covered the scent of dust and mildew greeted me when I stepped into the building. A six-foot-two white man covered in tats in what appeared to be a strictly black establishment had me sticking out like a big-ass neon flag. A few funny looks greeted me from some of the kids who walked by, but they didn’t voice their comments if they had any.
Surprisingly, other than a few odd looks, no one stopped me from walking around observing as I searched for someone in charge of the place. Every room or open space was filled with toys, televisions, and computer stations for the kids.
Finally, way in the back of the building, I found a small office. The door was open, but no one was at the desk.
“Can I help you?” came a soft female voice from behind me.
“Yes. I’m Detective Mark Griffin,” I lied easily. “I’m here on behalf of the Lincoln County Gang Unit.”
I flashed my fake badge that the lady eyed suspiciously before I shoved it back into my back pocket.
She pointed me into what must have been her office. She had to turn sideways to get behind the tight space of her desk. She hadn’t volunteered her name, but the nameplate on her desk said, Beverly Hudson.
She had a messy ponytail piled high on the top of her head. The air conditioning only produced enough cool to stave off the worst of the heat, so her chocolate skin glistened with sweat. Like Megan, Beverly would definitely stand out in a crowd. It wasn’t hard to keep eye contact with her, that’s for sure. Her hazel eyes were in sharp contrast to her brown skin and forced you to keep your eyes on hers although it was easy to see she had a nice body.
“How can I help you, Detective Griffin?”
“We are trying to track down a woman that goes by the name of Megan Jones. She writes books under the same name, and some of the money from her books sales are routed to an organization that funds this facility. We are trying to find out who set up that fund since it appears that Megan Jones is an alias not only used in her writing career but apparently, in her everyday life.”
At the mention of who’d set up the funding, Miss Hudson failed to hide that she’d become a little twitchy. She drummed her fingers over her desk as she avoided eye contact with me. And although I couldn’t see it, I picked up on the sound of her leg bouncing under her desk.
“The fund was set up anonymously, so I know just as much as you do, Detective.”
I wasn’t sure she’d even realized she had done it, but the way she’d placed a little extra inflection on the word detective indicated that she didn’t believe my cover.
However, she continued without missing a beat. “The Phoenix Foundation distributes the money, but the donors remain anonymous. The foundation has been one of our sponsors since the doors on this place opened, and they never reveal to us who donates the money if the donor wishes to remain anonymous. Their goal is to find us funding, and they are not legally obligated to tell us who the donors are.”